The Mirror of Erised reveals a person's deepest inner desire.
In its reflection, Harry saw a family he had never known, his father, his mother, and others who shared his eyes or hair. They all smiled warmly at him.
Harry touched the mirror longingly, as if trying to embrace the family inside.
In a corner of the room, Dumbledore, secretly observing all of this, wiped at his eyes and sniffled, "How moving... Vaughn, did you see it? This poor child."
Vaughn sneered and scoffed, "Sure, he's pitiful—because some old man dumped him with the Dursleys without even leaving behind a photo of his family!"
Dumbledore pretended not to hear, continuing to sob as if deeply touched. When Harry remained glued to the mirror and showed no intention of leaving, Dumbledore casually raised his hand toward the door. With a touch of masterful Transfiguration, the floor produced illusory footsteps that echoed across the hall, startling Harry, who fled in a panic, terrified of being caught by a professor.
Vaughn shook his head. "Really? You tempt him with his deepest desire, and then scare him off before he's even had enough? That's just cruel."
Dumbledore smiled slyly. "My dear Vaughn, didn't you say earlier? Everything seen in the Mirror of Erised is an illusion. There's no good in getting lost in it."
"That's true for you and me, but not for a child who's never experienced love."
Dumbledore ignored the sarcasm, listening to the sound of Harry's retreating footsteps growing distant. He lifted the invisibility spell and sighed. "Yes... love. Harry craves love. Vaughn, as his friend, I think you should—"
"Please don't. You focus on grooming your Savior. I'm not interested. Sure, I promised to help under our agreement, but that doesn't mean I'm going to babysit Harry. I've got better things to do. I don't have time to waste."
Another failed attempt. Dumbledore didn't mind. He led Vaughn toward the Mirror of Erised. Yet the mirror reflected no hidden desire.
The two of them stared at their own reflections, nothing more.
"Vaughn, are you sure you don't want to take a look?"
"I'm sure. Why don't you take a look?"
"I already have. It was wonderful."
"Heh. Last time, you said you saw a pile of wool socks. And now it's wonderful? I knew you were lying!"
"I swear I'm telling the truth this time, Vaughn. Just take a look—" Their debate was interrupted as the door creaked open and Snape glided in like a shadowy bat.
He stepped between the two, and still, the Mirror of Erised showed nothing.
The mirror wasn't broken, of course. If it could speak, it might have cursed them—what were the odds of encountering three masters of Occlumency in one night?
Snape glanced at his reflection with cold, unreadable eyes and addressed Dumbledore flatly, "Potter has returned to Gryffindor and should not be out again tonight. Quirrell shows no suspicious behavior."
He then gave a slight nod toward Vaughn. "Vaughn."
"Professor," Vaughn returned the greeting.
The three stood silently in front of the mirror. Vaughn and Dumbledore exchanged glances, then both turned their eyes toward Snape.
Their intense stares made it hard for Snape to maintain his usual stoicism.
Dumbledore suddenly smiled. "Severus, would you like to try the mirror? Vaughn said if you dare to look, he'll look too."
Vaughn echoed him with a grin. "Professor, the Headmaster also said if you dared to look, he would. Don't you want to know what goes on in that gloomy mind of his?"
Snape responded coolly, "Childish."
But he didn't look away from the mirror. He stared at his own reflection, as if something deeply hidden was trying to surface.
The two foxes—one old, one young—who'd intended to tease, now exchanged thoughtful glances. Dumbledore suddenly seemed to remember something. "Ah, Vaughn, we never finished discussing the wolfsbane potion and its political implications. Shall we continue elsewhere?"
"Sure, Professor. Let's go. Oh—he might not follow. Should we wait?"
"Child, that's unkind. Severus has just spent too many years at school. He's lost touch with... complex thinking."
"Apologies, Albus. I always speak directly—you know I'm a forthright and honest person."
Snape's mouth twitched, his black eyes narrowing as the two mischief-makers turned and left. Once their footsteps faded, he looked back at the mirror again.
And then—his numb, indifferent reflection disappeared. In its place appeared a beautiful face with green eyes.
Snape's thin hand trembled, reaching out, only to draw back just before touching the glass.
Outside the door, Dumbledore and Vaughn, once again hidden by magic, stood quietly, listening to the soft sobs that escaped the classroom. The quiet crying gradually grew into heart-wrenching, restrained wails—like someone desperately holding back overwhelming grief.
For once, neither of them joked nor tested the other.
They just listened.
After a long moment, Dumbledore raised his wand and used Transfiguration to mimic his and Vaughn's footsteps approaching from the opposite end of the corridor, complete with faint sounds of conversation.
As the fake footsteps reached the door, he lifted the invisibility spell.
Vaughn immediately joined in, launching into a dramatic complaint. "You're an old man, and I have no idea why I keep listening to you!" he snapped, storming into the classroom.
To Snape, who had already composed himself, the two appeared to be in the middle of an argument. Neither looked at him; they were locked in a tense stare.
Suddenly feeling weary, Snape didn't want to get involved. He nodded silently to them both, then turned and walked away.
Dumbledore stretched his limbs, craned his neck to make sure Snape had truly left, then sighed. "Love," he murmured, "can turn a vicious Death Eater into the most vulnerable child—"
Vaughn, for once, didn't refute him.
In his heart, he had always believed Snape's love for Lily was painfully pure. He had no desire to comment on a feeling so untainted.
To his surprise, Dumbledore—who had always kept him at a distance with lies—suddenly stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, hesitated for a moment, then beckoned him over.
"Come, Vaughn. Look at mine."
Seeing Vaughn frown, he smiled gently. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to lower your Occlumency shield. I only want you to see… what an old man truly desires."
Vaughn didn't reply, but he stepped forward.
In the mirror, Ariana, Aberforth, and Gellert Grindelwald appeared, laughing together, arms wrapped around each other. For a fleeting moment, they looked as if nothing had ever gone wrong. The proud, composed man standing in front of the mirror suddenly sagged, his shoulders drooping.
Dumbledore gazed at the scene with quiet longing, immersed in it, helplessly captivated.
Tears, cloudy and unrestrained, slipped down his face.
His voice trembled. "Vaughn… there's no turning back in life. A single mistake, and no amount of regret will undo it. Promise me… promise me, you'll never let the beast within triumph over your humanity. Please."
Vaughn remained silent. Dumbledore didn't seem to expect an answer.
Instead, he pulled a small folded note from his sleeve. "Put your paper and potion formula together and send it to this address. I've spoken to a few old friends. By tomorrow, the newspapers will begin your promotion!"
"Go now, child. Let me be alone a while—"
Vaughn looked like he wanted to speak, but changed his mind. It took courage for an adult to bare their soul. In this, he held a reluctant admiration for Dumbledore.
He couldn't do it. And he didn't want to. Silently, he turned to leave. Before he walked away completely, he looked back one last time—
Dumbledore was seated on the floor, leaning against the mirror, murmuring softly to himself.
---
On Christmas Eve, Vaughn hurriedly finished his paper, organized the Wolfsbane Potion formula, and sent it off to the address Dumbledore had provided.
After that, he couldn't sleep. He didn't know what he was thinking. His mind was trapped in a strange state: outwardly shielded by the calm of Occlumency, yet inwardly filled with tangled thoughts. Chaos beneath order. It wasn't until dawn's first pale light that he finally drifted off.
---
Under the same sky, Rita Skeeter rose early. After arriving at Diagon Alley through the Floo Network, she didn't head straight to the Daily Prophet.
Instead, she wandered the street.
The morning after Christmas was unusually quiet, but the colored paper scraps and random litter scattered in front of every storefront told of last night's wild festivities.
The scent of peace—
Damn peace!
Rita Skeeter hated the current tranquility of the wizarding world. She was a reporter, lacking any real moral scruples, and only interested in chaos, in scandal, in news. She had no interest in reporting that some toothy wizard spent all day reading "Big Stick Teeth" to noisy Muggle neighbors!
Or that a few drunken wizards had performed street magic in a Muggle square and, during a botched Apparition, accidentally split themselves in two—sending blood flying and terrifying the poor Muggles.
"It's time to stir things up," Rita muttered to herself. But who would be the perfect target?
At the moment, there were few figures in the wizarding world prominent enough to fabricate headlines around. At the very least, the victim of her fiction needed to be famous.
Harry Potter? Sure, he was famous—but what could a schoolboy possibly do worth writing about?
Dumbledore?
Hmm...
Rita was still mulling it over when she arrived at the Daily Prophet offices. As the leading newspaper not just in England but across the global wizarding world, the building hummed with energy around the clock.
News gathering, fact-checking, planning, editing, printing, distribution—everything happened here, within these stone walls.
Wizards of all ages bustled about like enchanted clockwork.
But today, there was something more. Everyone seemed to be moving with extra urgency, as though they might leap onto their brooms and fly off at any moment.
Rita raised an eyebrow, baffled. She was just about to stop someone and ask what was going on when a familiar editor spotted her and waved her over.
"Rita! Just in time! Big news today—the editor-in-chief's calling an emergency meeting."
"What big news?"
"You haven't seen the paper yet? Ah, right—it just came out." The editor slapped his forehead, then pulled a fresh issue from under his arm and dropped it in front of her.
Rita's eyes were immediately drawn to the large, bold headline on the front page: "Wolfsbane Potion: The Dawn of the Magic World—or the End of Werewolves?"
Beneath it, a striking photograph: a silhouette of a wolf howling at the moon.
She skimmed down to the first paragraph—and instantly understood.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to say this with great excitement:
Today, December 26, 1991, is a date that deserves to be recorded in the History of Modern Magic. For those whose families have been shattered by werewolf attacks… for those who have avoided countryside vacations in fear… Today, you may rejoice!
The werewolf virus has been conquered!
And with that, we proudly introduce a rising star of the potion world—Inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, creator of the Vaughn Beauty Series, potion genius…
Vaughn Weasley!"